Funeral Blues
by The Plaid Slytherin
Summary: Jack struggles with his identity after the events of Children of Earth, which becomes more complicated when he runs into the Doctor. Ten/Jack.
1. Chapter 1

_The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the woods;  
For nothing now can ever come to any good.  
- W.H. Auden, "Funeral Blues"_

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"The problem I see is that the unions don't do no good; they can bargain 'til they're blue in the face but do the big dogs listen? Naw."

Jack took another swig from his tankard, but there was nothing left. He blearily signaled the bartender for another one. The robot looked at him skeptically. Jack hadn't known robots could look skeptical.

"I'm good for it," he said gruffly.

"And my ex-wife," said the man beside him, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jack was ignoring him. "My ex-wife, she still expects me to pay her bills each month when I'm barely paid enough to cover my own expenses."

"I see," said Jack, toying with one of the many bottle caps scattered across the bar. He couldn't even remember the name of the planet he was on and he'd been there four days. All he knew was the food was cheap and the drink was cheaper. "I'm sorry to hear that." He wondered vaguely if "my own expenses" meant drinking on a weeknight. Or, at least, he thought it was a weeknight.

"My kid's a bum," the man continued. "Never does any work. I keep threatening to cut him off but she keeps insisting–"

Jack began to tune him out. He couldn't stand to hear people talk that way about their own flesh and blood, the people important to them.

The bartender set another tankard of whatever he'd been drinking in front of him and he took a swig. It went down the wrong way and burned. He relished it. By his calculations, he was almost at alcohol poisoning.

"What do you think I should do, hm?"

Jack looked up at the man. "About what?"

"My son."

"Oh." Jack leaned back on his barstool and ran a hand through his overlong hair, pushing it out of his eyes. "Give him another chance," he said finally, looking the other man in the eye. "Give him... another chance."

He took another swig of his drink and wiped his mouth. "'Cause you never know when you won't be able to."

The man regarded him warily.

"Trust me," said Jack. "Anything can happen. You never know."

"That'll be eighty-four credits, sir," said the bartender.

"Eighty-four?" Jack stared.

The robot's eyes flashed, recalculating Jack's tab. "You've had eleven."

Cursing, Jack dug in the pocket of his coat for his wallet. When he opened the well-worn leather, one crumpled bill fell out, followed by a large gold coin. He picked them up, examining them.

"That's not enough," he finally concluded.

"Yeah, it is." The man beside him picked up another coin, which was sitting right next to Jack's wallet. "Didn't see it, did you?"

"Right," muttered Jack, taking it from him. "Thanks... for finding it."

"My pleasure," said the man. "And give him another round–you'll see there's enough."

The bartender scanned the money to be sure it was real and locked it in the cash register. Then, it set another tankard in front of Jack.

"So. Twelve." The man looked at Jack appreciatively.

"I have a high tolerance." Jack took a swig. He could barely taste it anymore, but he felt the burn a few seconds later.

"I'll say." The man looked impressed. His eyes fell on Jack's now-empty wallet. "Fallen on hard times, have you?"

"You could say that." He hadn't really intended to talk to the guy, but he figured it was only polite since he'd helped him out.

"No friends?" The man tapped a corner of the crumpled photograph protruding from the wallet. "Who's he, then?"

Jack shoved Ianto's picture back in the wallet and crammed it into his pocket again. "Just a friend."

"He can't, you know, give you bit of a loaner?"

Jack looked down into his tankard, at his face distorted in the maroon liquid. "He's gone," he said quietly.

"Oh." The man glanced away. "I'm sorry."

Jack grunted. "It's okay. You didn't know."

"Is that what you meant by..." The man looked down at his own drink. "By what you said?"

"Yeah."

The man looked solemn. "I'm really sorry," he said.

Jack shrugged and took another swig. He could feel his breath starting to slow. "'S okay," he muttered. He had to squint to avoid seeing triple.

"Come home with me."

"You don't have to do that." He was pretty sure he'd slurred some words there.

"Yeah, I do." The man stood up. "You remind me of Alex. That's my son."

"Okay." Jack ignored the way "Alex" slurred into "Alice."

He didn't have much longer anyway. Jack swallowed the dregs of his last and stood, gripping the bar for support. The empty mug clattered to the floor.

"Come on," said the man, guiding him to the door. "You can sleep on my couch."

Jack groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was sleep. If he slept, he'd dream. Once outside, he lurched into the alley and threw up.

"It's okay," said the man quietly. "We'll get you home, sleep it off, see what we can do in the morning. Maybe I'll give you a little something to tide you over."

"Thanks," muttered Jack.

"Don't mention it."

They walked for several streets and out of the town. It suddenly occurred to Jack that this probably wasn't the best decision, but then again, what was the worst that could happen? He didn't mind being murdered.

Jack realized he'd gone a whole minute without taking a breath. His personal record was fourteen, but that was sober. He also realized he was beginning to feel very cold. He fumbled with the buttons on his coat and decided tying the belt was easier, given his loss of fine motor skills.

The man was still talking, going on and on about how he planned to get his son a job at the same factory he worked in. He was wondering if Jack wanted a job there, too. Jack briefly considered it. It might be nice to settle down for a little while. But, no. He'd make friends and then, sooner or later, he'd lose them. That's the way it always happened. That's the way it always _would_ happen.

Jack was holding his breath on purpose now. Six minutes. He didn't want to throw up again. He needed the alcohol in his system if he was going to do it properly. His vision was starting to go black. Involuntarily, he took a breath.

"You okay?" the man asked.

"Yeah," said Jack. He stumbled. "I'm fine." He went down on one knee.

"Oi!" The man grabbed Jack's shoulders and he dropped dizzily to the ground.

He fell backward, deliberately avoiding the man's attempts to catch him. He'd never really studied the stars on this planet–he'd even forgotten its name. He didn't even know this guy's name.

"Hold on," said the man hurriedly. "I'll get help, I'll find a doctor."

Jack snorted as he listened to the man's rapidly retreating footsteps and began to laugh, as he felt the life seeping out of him. "Doctor can't help me now."

**

"Martha, where exactly are you taking me?" The Doctor fidgeted in the passenger seat of Martha's car. The seat belt was very uncomfortable for someone who was used to hurtling around the interior of the TARDIS.

"To see someone," she said evenly.

The Doctor peered out the window, watching the traffic fly by on the M4. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he knew what this was about. He deeply regretted not being to help during the incident with the 456; he'd spent a day trapped in collapsed building on Halreytia and had returned to the TARDIS to find literally thousands of missed calls from Martha. He closed his eyes against the wave of guilt. He was never letting that cell phone out of his sight again.

"You've already met Gwen," said Martha conversationally. "But you haven't met her husband. He's called Rhys."

"Oh," said the Doctor. "Is that it, then?"

Martha flicked her eyes to him and changed lanes flawlessly. "Is that what, then?"

"You called me and said to meet you in London," he said slowly. "Then you said we were going for a drive."

Martha shifted uncomfortably and pulled off onto the exit. "We _are_ going for a drive."

"To see Gwen Cooper." The Doctor watched as the buildings around them became more residential. He ran a hand through his hair. "And she's going to ask me to do something I can't do."

"Just talk to her," said Martha. "Please. For me."

"Martha, Martha, Martha." The Doctor rubbed his face.

"Can I take that as a yes?"

"Fine." The Doctor reached out for the buttons on the radio.

"Don't touch the presets," said Martha. "I don't want you getting some bloody Welsh station stuck on there."

**

Gwen heard the car pull up outside. All of a sudden, she began to feel nerves she hadn't felt before. What if he didn't want to help? What could she do then? She rested a hand on her stomach; the baby seemed to sense her anxiety. He–or she–was moving about restlessly.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "Martha knows him; she wouldn't bring him if he was going to say no."

"You think so?" said Rhys, looking up from the newspaper. "I think he's going to say no."

"You haven't met him, Rhys. You don't know what he's capable of."

"You haven't met him either." The doorbell rang and Rhys tossed his paper aside and stood. "You only saw him because _Jack_ went to _him_." The doorbell rang again and Rhys scowled. "I'm coming!"

Gwen took a deep breath as she listened to the door open and the hushed introductions from the entryway. She was going to do this. It was going to work.

"Gwen Cooper, I presume." She glanced up. He looked somehow less impressive in person. He was just a skinny man in a long coat. He didn't look capable of saving the world.

"You two," said Rhys, "how do you take your tea?"

"Oh, I'm fine," said Martha.

"Cream, two sugars," said the Doctor. He was studying the photographs on the mantel, his eyes lingering on the sole photograph she had of the three of them, before. "Nice place you got here," he said politely. He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Looks like a lovely place to raise a family." He glanced at her stomach.

"Must be getting on any day now," said Martha. "You look great."

Gwen laughed. "I feel terrible. I just want it out!"

The Doctor grinned. "Boy or girl? No, let me guess..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Boy."

"We don't know," said Rhys, bringing in the tea and setting it down on the coffee table. "We don't want to know."

"Ah, yes," said the Doctor happily. "Surprises are great, I love surprises. Good surprises, mind you, but this is a good surprise."

"Sit down," said Gwen, gesturing to the chairs in front of her. "Rhys, take his coat."

"So," said the Doctor, when he had settled into the armchair and taken a few sips of tea, which he had proclaimed fantastic.

Gwen took a deep breath and steepled her fingers. "Are you... doing anything important these days?"

"Everything I do is important."

She laughed nervously. "Right. Sorry. What I mean to say is..." She brushed her hair back from her face. "Will you look for Jack?"

The Doctor paused. He was looking somewhere over her shoulder, but he certainly wasn't seeing the bookcase against the wall. He was seeing something else, thousands of miles away.

"Why?"

Gwen's heart skipped a beat. She'd honestly expected him to say no. "What?"

"Why? Why do you want me to look for him?" He set his teacup back down on the table and picked up a biscuit. He looked incongruously domestic.

"It's been three months," she said desperately. "I thought for sure he'd come back. I thought... I thought he liked it here on Earth, I thought he'd want to see the baby, I thought..." She felt tears begin to form in her eyes. "I thought he'd want..."

Rhys sat down beside her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "It's okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "It's okay, sweetheart."

"You think Jack wants to come home," said the Doctor.

"He _should_ want to," said Gwen.

"I've known Jack a long time," said the Doctor, examining the biscuit crumbs on his fingers. "And he's not generally the type of person to do what he _should_ do."

"I know that," she said, wiping her eyes. "I just... we _need_ him. _Earth_ needs him. I just don't know what we'll do without him. Every day, I get up and I hope the world doesn't end just because he's not here, Torchwood's not here, and there's nothing I can do if something happens."

"You've got me," said the Doctor.

"Where were you, then, hm?" said Rhys suddenly. "When Ianto was dying, when Jack's grandson was dying, when the Earth was almost destroyed? Where the hell were you?"

The Doctor looked taken aback as if he hadn't expected anyone to bring that up. "I'm sorry about that–truly sorry. I'd have come if I'd been able to, you've got to believe that."

"If you want to help, then, please, just find him." Gwen looked up at him. "I honestly just don't know what to do."

The Doctor considered this. "Do you have any idea where he's gone?" he asked.

Gwen shook her head. "He was hitching a lift on a spaceship at the edge of the solar system, something about a cold-fusion cruiser?"

"That was probably temporary," the Doctor cautioned. "I honestly don't see Jack crewing on a ship like that. It's just not his style." He glanced down apologetically.

There were a few moments of silence before Gwen finally said, "So will you do it? Will you look for him?"

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor quietly. "I'll certainly keep an eye out, but he's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

"That's the problem," said Gwen, wiping her eyes. "He just doesn't know when he can't afford to be alone."

The Doctor nodded, but did not meet her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack came to facedown in a ditch. For several minutes, he contemplated just rolling into a nearby puddle and drowning himself, but then he remembered that he hadn't been in the ditch last night. Someone had thrown him in there.

He felt furiously for his wallet. It was still there, still empty of course. So was his vortex manipulator.

But his watch was gone.

Jack let fly a string of curses in every language he knew. He felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. Ianto had given him that watch, in the last few days they'd had together. It had been essential, just a replacement like his clothes, but he had still been attached to it.

With everything he regretted doing and not having done, the least he could do was not let go of the few things he had left to remind him of what he'd lost. He had promised Ianto he wouldn't forget him, but he was beginning to worry he would.

The memory of where he was gradually began to come back to him. This was the thirty-second planet he'd visited since he'd begun traveling, the twenty-ninth since he'd gotten his vortex manipulator properly fixed on Spledonia.

He'd gone back a couple of times, to watch Ianto. He knew it was risky, all this time travel, but he was nearly past the point of caring. Hell, maybe if he brought about the end of the universe, he'd actually get some rest.

His stomach rumbled.

He needed food–unless he felt like starving to death. He'd done that a couple of times and it was always really inconvenient. He usually needed someone to take him to a doctor–an actual doctor–but he wasn't sure where to find any doctors here. At least not any doctors he'd trust.

Jack staggered to his feet. He didn't really fancy going back to the town he'd been in last night–he couldn't explain why he wasn't dead for starters. That meant he needed to do a bit of walking. There'd be another town in a few miles, if this planet was anything like any of the others of similar technological level he'd visited.

He brushed himself off and started to walk.

After a few hours, he did come to another town. It looked practically identical to the one he'd been in the previous night. Thankfully, that town had a moderately-sized spaceport, probably the only one on this backwater planet. Jack wasn't sure where he wanted to go, but he didn't want to be here.

He let himself get lost in the crowds near the docks, wandering aimlessly, though not aimlessly enough to get himself picked up by security. He was looking to stow away. He hadn't done that in centuries, so he wasn't sure his stowing-away skills were up to snuff. It briefly crossed his mind that he could get a job and work legitimately for his passage, but he decided against that. He didn't need to get attached, and he didn't want to have to answer any questions.

He finally settled on a mining ship, bound for a distant colony on Draxa IV. He'd never been there, but mining towns were usually fun. He'd learned that in California in 1849, on one of his few trips to Earth's past.

He'd spotted himself there, with Rose and the Doctor–their first Doctor, of course. He'd forgotten he'd already been there, though they didn't come near the part of town the second version of Jack hung around in. But he'd watched them, in disbelief that he'd ever been that happy.

Jack shook his head. Those days were over. He could see why the Doctor now insisted on traveling alone and Jack was determined to do the same.

He crouched behind a crate, watching as the automatic forklift approached to carry it onto the ship. At the last minute, he hauled himself over on top of the crate, pressing himself against the rough wood. The forklift picked up the crate with Jack on it and carried it into the hold of the ship. He lay there, on his back, waiting for what seemed like eons, as the rest of the cargo was loaded, but luckily, no one came by.

It would probably get cold in the hold, but that wasn't much of a problem for him. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift, lost in the sounds of a heavy cruiser getting ready for takeoff. All the familiar sounds he hadn't experienced in years brought back a lot of memories of the old days, before he met the Doctor and his life changed.

He braced himself against his crate as the primary rockets kicked in and the ship broke the atmosphere. It was the kind of rush you couldn't find anywhere else. Teleport was nice, and so was the TARDIS, but sometimes you just had to travel the old-fashioned way.

**

The Doctor was not looking for Jack on purpose. After all, he wasn't a lost puppy. He was more like a cat, actually–he'd come home when he was good and ready. Which was funny, he realized, since the Doctor wasn't really a cat person.

He did keep an eye out for Jack, though. It couldn't hurt, could it? After all, Jack wasn't really the expert on keeping a low profile. If they happened to wind up in the same place at the same time... well, he'd just have to talk to him, should the situation present itself.

In the meantime, he was doing what he usually did. Traveling, investigating. He usually let the TARDIS pick the destination–he had trouble making these kinds of decisions on his own. It was usually quite random, the places the TARDIS decided to take him, though she did tend to prefer places brewing a crisis that he could prevent–not that he'd fault her for that.

If there was something niggling in the back of his mind when the TARDIS materialized on Draxa IV, he only realized it in hindsight.

"So, let's see," he said to himself. "Draxa IV, Draxa IV. That's... a mining colony, isn't it? Well, then!"

He surveyed the TARDIS interior, once more reminded of the fact that he was alone. But he couldn't travel with someone–they'd just wind up leaving him. He just had to... not talk out loud, that was it. He hated the way his voice sounded in the empty ship.

He grabbed his coat from the support on which it hung and shrugged it on. "Allons-y," he murmured under his breath, as he pulled the doors open and stepped out onto the planet.

The Doctor found himself in a copse of trees on the edge of a cluster of buildings. "Not a bad parking job," he observed. "Nice and secluded." He stuck his hands in his pockets and set off in search of something interesting.

"Hello! I'm the Doctor," he said brightly to a young woman who was outside of her house, sweeping the front step. "Can you tell me where I am exactly?"

She spun quickly and stared at him as if petrified with fear.

"Oh come on," said the Doctor gently. "I don't bite."

She shook her head.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Cat got your tongue?"

The young woman took a deep breath and glanced frantically to both sides. "Leave," she said quickly. "Go, now. Hurry!" She yanked open her front door and made to go inside.

"Wait, wait, at least tell me where everyone else is!" The Doctor reached out to grab her shoulder and she looked as though she might drop dead from panic.

"Please, sir, just go! I can't be caught talking to outsiders."

The Doctor lifted his hand and the woman flew inside.

"I'm sorry," said the Doctor, sticking a foot in the door, preventing her from shutting it. "Just tell me why this town's deserted and I'll be on my merry way."

"Down by the docks," she said in a quavering voice. "There's a supply ship coming in. Now go! They are watching!" She slammed the door just as the Doctor withdrew his foot.

"_They_?" the Doctor repeated. "_They_ don't sound like a pleasant lot. Well, I suppose I'll make my way down to the docks. Still… can't go wrong with a supply ship. Lots of interesting… supplies. Typically. You know."

**

As soon as the ship made the jump to hyperspace, Jack rolled off his crate and went exploring. To his glee, he realized this wasn't mining equipment after all. It was food! And real food, at that. Jack couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten real fruit.

He settled himself on his rolled-up coat on the floor of the cargo hold with a large hunk of bread, a wedge of cheese and an apple. It certainly wasn't the kind of meal he would have expected if he had been living full-time in one place, but it was better than the bar food he'd been subsisting on lately. Who knew such simple food could be so delicious? He also found a crate full of bottled water from which he drank liberally. Having eaten his fill, Jack lay down on his back, hands pillowed behind his head.

This wasn't a bad life, actually, the life of a stowaway. It reminded him of some of his favorite holodisc films as a kid. He and his brother had played at those games for hours with the neighborhood kids, pretending to be stowaways and space pirates, dreaming of running away from home.

Maybe that was an idea–a whole new life. He'd been Captain Jack Harkness for too long, worn out his welcome in this stolen identity. It was time for something new, a name free of all the terrible things he'd done in the past. And he had a plenty-long journey to come up with one.

He yawned. He'd just sleep for a little bit. He'd charted the trip on his vortex manipulator and programmed the device to wake him up half an hour before the ship landed so he could hide again. Then he'd see what trouble he could get up to in a lawless mining town.

_He was lying with Ianto, in a grassy field far from the city. It was a dark night, this far from the lights of Cardiff, but the starry sky was enough for them._

"Can you tell which one you were born on?" Ianto asked, breath warm against his neck.

He scanned the stars, trying to find the correct one. "I don't know," he said finally. "Maybe that one?" He pointed at a bright star directly above their heads.

"Mm," said Ianto skeptically. "I thought you said that's where the fuzzy green things were from. You don't look fuzzy and green to me."

He looked again. The stars looked different somehow. "No, wait." He lifted his head off Ianto's shoulder, looking at another part of the sky. "There. I was born over by that one. That one there."

Ianto made a face. "That star burned out millennia ago, but its light's just reaching Earth now. You can't have been born there."

He looked down at Ianto frantically. "Then I don't know! Maybe we can't see it."

"We should be able to," Ianto pointed out. "Did you forget?"

"I don't know!"

"Who are you?" asked Ianto. His voice was harsh but his hands were gentle as he pulled him back down for a kiss. "What are you doing here?"

His eyes snapped open.

A cluster of men in black uniforms stood around him, guns pointed at him.

"Who are you?" said one of them coldly, his expression hard. "What are you doing here?"

**

The space docks were indeed very crowded. The Doctor had trouble seeing what was going on. An ominous-sounding bell tolled three times and the crowd roared. He peered around an especially large man.

"What's happening?" he asked. "I'm the Doctor, by the way."

"They've found a criminal aboard that ship," said the man, looking at the Doctor as if he'd just asked what trousers were for. "He's been sentenced to execution. Three rings means by firing squad."

"Oh," said the Doctor, nodding. "That seems a tad extreme for... what did he do?"

"He's a thief," said a woman on the Doctor's other side. "A stowaway."

"Ah," said the Doctor. "That... seems _very_ extreme actually."

"There he is!" someone else shouted. "There he goes!"

The Doctor stood on tiptoes. "Oh my," he said, when he saw the man who was being led by in handcuffs. "That's a coincidence, that is. A real coinkydink." He made a face. "Did I just say coinkydink? Don't _ever_ let me do that again." The man beside him regarded him suspiciously and moved as far away as the crowd would allow.

"I guess I can't let him be executed," said the Doctor thoughtfully. "Martha would never let me hear the end of it." He caught the eye of the woman. "Which way's the prison?"

"Over there," she said. "But why would you want to go?"

"Oh." The Doctor glanced to the side. "I just... want to heckle the prisoners? Up close, you know. Dirty rotten scoundrels, all of them. Especially that one." He jerked his head in the direction of the police transport that was making its way through the crowd.

The woman said nothing, but moved as far from him as the crowd would allow.

"Oh, well," said the Doctor, walking away with his hands in his pockets. "Gwen and Martha will never believe this wasn't on purpose."


	3. Chapter 3

He usually didn't mind being in prison, or even sentenced to execution–he'd been in prison more times than he could count and execution was nothing for him, but he really hated being processed. Being fingerprinted and forced into the ill-fitting short-sleeved jumpsuit was tedious and humiliating.

"Name?"

He glanced down at the man behind the table who was writing his information on a card.

"What's your _name_?" the man repeated, slowly and loudly, as though he were hard of hearing.

He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

"Foreigner," the man muttered. "Doesn't even speak Basic."

"Just write anything on there," said the guard. "He won't know the difference."

The man wrote something and thrust the card at him. When he saw what was written there, he laughed out loud and found he couldn't stop. _John Smith_.

"He's mad," muttered the guard, as he forced him against the wall to have his mug shot taken. "Why do I always get the barking ones?"

Afterward, he was taken to a windowless concrete cell, lit by fluorescent lights. He sighed. He supposed they weren't going to put the light out so he could sleep. He flopped onto his bunk, shut his eyes, and focused hard on the last image he remembered from his dream.

Frustratingly, his subconscious refused to produce a kissing-Ianto dream. Instead, he dreamed about the destruction of the Hub and woke in a cold sweat, completely unaware of how much time had passed. He supposed that was why they didn't turn the light off.

He dragged the back of his hand across his eyes and rolled over onto his stomach. Getting comfortable was impossible–the bunk was too narrow for him, and there was only a threadbare blanket for comfort. He hoped he didn't have to spend long in here. He was likely to go mad before long. He laughed under his breath; it echoed strangely in the cell. He already _was_ mad.

He rolled over onto his left side, facing the wall, and then his right side, back against the wall. Neither proved any more comfortable. He finally wound up on his back again, staring straight into the light.

He finally slept again, out of pure exhaustion, and did not remember his dreams. He was awakened a few hours later by the crackling of a loudspeaker.

"Prisoner Smith, away from the door, hands against the wall."

He opened one eye. That wasn't him, was it?

"Prisoner Smith, _away from the door, hands against the wall_." The voice seemed more insistent this time. Oh, yeah. That _was_ him.

He got to his feet and planted his hands on the wall, feet apart, head down. He knew the drill. He heard the cell door open and turned his upper body to see who it was.

"Hands against the wall, Prisoner Smith," said the Doctor.

He could feel the Doctor's eyes on him, taking in his shapeless gray jumpsuit and his need of a bath and a haircut. He fought the urge to flinch.

"Come on," said the Doctor. He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and jabbed it at the security camera. "They can't see or hear us now. What did you do to get yourself locked up in here?"

He opened his mouth, unable to remember the last time he'd said anything. Could it have been to that man the other night? He cleared his throat. "I took some food," he said, his voice cracking.

The Doctor sighed. "O, how the mighty have fallen." He paused. "Turn around. You don't really have to face the wall."

He didn't say anything but he did turn around.

"Look, I'm sorry," said the Doctor. "I heard... about everything and I am so, so sorry."

"Why are _you_ sorry?" he asked.

"Because I should have been there." The Doctor seemed to be deliberately avoiding looking at his clothes. He supposed his regular clothes were in the bag the Doctor carried. "It's my responsibility."

"No, it's not," he said. "It was mine. When you're not there to take care of things, Torchwood does."

"They tried everything, you know. To get in touch with me. Martha, Sarah Jane–even good old Mickey. But I wasn't there and I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to go through all that alone."

"Don't be."

"Why, because it's easier if you can blame yourself?" The Doctor shrugged. "Be that way if you want. I'm still taking you back." He plunged a hand into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. "Got to look authentic," he said, snapping them around his wrists. "I said I was transferring you to the penitentiary in the asteroid belt. Or rather, the psychic paper did. I thought these would be right up your alley." Then, he shook his head. "Sorry."

He didn't say anything.

"Come on," said the Doctor gently. "Let's go home."

The Doctor grabbed his arm and led him to the cell door. He kept his head down, avoiding the gazes of the guards who'd processed him.

"Guess he really is mad," said one of them, in what was probably supposed to be a hushed tone. "Bet he's some big murderer."

The Doctor jerked him forward more quickly to get out of earshot. "I don't like this place," he said. "They were going to execute you for stealing apples, Jack."

He jumped. He hadn't expected the Doctor to refer to him by that name. "Actually," he said, glancing down at the Doctor's long fingers curled around his bare arm. "I was thinking... that's not actually my name. I was thinking about trying a different one."

The Doctor nodded. "Well, all right, then. I can do that; after all, I expect you to call me Doctor when I look different. I can do the opposite for you. What do you want to be called, Ja–sorry. What do you want to be called?"

He shrugged. "I hadn't really decided yet."

The Doctor frowned thoughtfully. "Let's see. What about Frank? You look like a Frank. Or Melvin. I like that name, Melvin."

"I'm still thinking about it," he said.

"All right, then." The Doctor nodded.

He realized that even though they'd long passed the prison complex, the Doctor didn't let go of his elbow. He hadn't felt like this much of a prisoner even when he'd been in the cell.

**

He would never have guessed he'd be so glad to be back on the TARDIS. He'd bolted for his old bedroom as soon as the Doctor had sonicked the cuffs off.

Without preamble, he stripped and jumped in the shower. He relaxed under the warm spray, as it washed away what seemed like months of dirt and grime. He spent over an hour in there and almost as long staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He rubbed his face and debated shaving. The Doctor had told him to take all the time he needed to feel more like himself, but the truth was, without even a name, he didn't think he _could_ feel more like himself. He didn't know who himself was. He flicked his overlong fringe out of his eyes. Maybe this was himself.

When he stepped out of the bathroom and into the once-familiar bedroom, the first thing he saw was that the Doctor had exchanged the prison uniform he'd left on the floor for his freshly laundered clothes. His wallet was sitting neatly on top of the pile. He flipped it open. The only thing in there was the crinkled photograph, but at least it was still there. He tucked it into his trouser pocket, unable to look at the man who stood beside Ianto in it, and snapped his braces into place. The Doctor would be waiting for him.

"There you are!" said the Doctor brightly, when he entered the console room. The Time Lord was peering at the controls, which he had long ago figured out didn't need as much fooling-with as the Doctor seemed to do. "Though I see you're still after the later-Beatles look. Need me to give you a trim? I promise I'm good–I even cut my own hair!" He ran a hand through it as if to demonstrate his skill.

He shrugged. "No, I'm fine." He spotted his vortex manipulator and his coat sitting on the jump seat.

"Oh, yes!" said the Doctor, crossing over to them. "I'm not giving you this back." He picked up the vortex manipulator and put it in his suit pocket. "Can't afford to let you get away from me. No idea where you got it fixed."

"Spledonia," he replied, glancing around the console room, curious to see if it looked any different to the last time he was there. "I did a man a favor."

The Doctor picked up his coat without additional comment. "And now this. Hardly recognized you without it. Hold out your arms."

He complied automatically, standing stock still as the Doctor eased his arms into the sleeves and settled the coat on his shoulders. "There we are," said the Doctor, a trace of fondness in his voice as he smoothed the lapels. "There's Ja... er, whatever your name is. You need to pick a name, you know. I'm having trouble thinking of you as... no one."

He shrugged. "I've been doing just fine myself."

The Doctor frowned and said nothing. "Come on," he said finally. "I'm not done poking around here."

When he and the Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, they were immediately confronted by a small crowd of people.

"Oh, hello!" said the Doctor. "How exciting! It's the townspeople come to... what? Run us out of town? That hasn't happened to me in ages!"

"Doctor?" asked a woman tentatively coming out of the crowd, looking at the Doctor.

"Oh, no, sorry," said the Doctor, jerking his head to indicate the man next to him. "He's the Doctor. I'm Captain Jack Harkness."

"What?" he snapped, whirling around.

The Doctor gestured vaguely. "He's a bit touched in the head," he explained. "A bit eccentric. You'll also find he refers to himself in the third person... quite frequently. But he's brilliant, really, the Doctor and it's my job to look after him."

"What are you talking about?" he hissed in the Doctor's ear.

The Doctor blinked innocently. "Well, you wanted to try new names. I thought I'd lend you mine. Plus, Captain Jack Harkness is too good to go unused, so I thought I'd take it."

"Excuse me," said a young blonde woman. "I thought you said you were the Doctor. When you came to my house before."

"Sorry for the misunderstanding," said the Doctor. "I meant simply that I was a _representative_ of the Doctor. His companion, if you will. I'm Captain Jack Harkness. And you are?"

"My name's Rachel Easley," she said.

"Oh!" The Doctor looked impressed. "Rachel, now _that_ is a beautiful name. It suits you very well." Rachel flushed.

"Stop it," he said sharply.

"What?" asked the Doctor, bewildered. "I was just saying hello!"

"Never mind," he said. "What are we doing here?"

"We thought you could help us," said Rachel.

"We certainly can," said the Doctor. "That's our job."

Rachel's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you, Captain."

"Oh, don't mention it," said the Doctor, beaming. "And you can call me Jack."


	4. Chapter 4

"So what do you want me to do, if I'm you?" he hissed at the Doctor as the townspeople led them through the village.

"This colony has gone rogue," the Doctor said in a low voice. "It's broken away from the home planet in all but name. We're going to help the opposition."

"How?"

"Oh, that's your job! You're the Doctor."

He gritted his teeth and ran a hand through his hair. "Fine, fine, I'll think of something."

"Lovely," said the Doctor happily, sticking his hands in his pockets. "I wouldn't want you to muck up my reputation."

"What about mine?" he shot back.

"Yours? I thought you didn't want to be Jack anymore. Doesn't matter what I do, does it?"

He increased the length of his strides but the Doctor caught up with him. He was expecting to be berated again, but instead, the Doctor just launched into what he'd learned about the planet so far.

"When the mining colony was established, the crime levels were too much for the authorities to control." The way the Doctor explained all this, in a low, conspiratorial voice stirred something inside him, reminding him of the old days. He could feel his heart begin to pound a little faster. He shook his head to clear it. _No_. Those days were over. He tried to focus on what the Doctor was saying.

"The government became more and more oppressive. It _was_ a democracy but the administration was controlling the crime level, so they were afraid to be voted out." He sighed. "It worked–crime was down–but that was because they were executing half the prisoners. Anyone they could be sure was guilty, really. There's been a political opposition forming, but they've had trouble getting off the ground." He pursed his lips. "They said their leader's been taken prisoner on trumped-up charges. That's Rachel's father." He sighed. "Everyone's so paranoid."

He frowned. He wasn't used to this–lately, he'd become pretty sure he was incapable of saving people. With his luck, the village would probably blow up.

The opposition was meeting in Rachel's basement. In her father's absence, she had been running the meetings.

"This is it?" He glanced around the room. There were about twenty people–mostly young men and women.

"People have been afraid to come," said Rachel apologetically, "since Dad."

The Doctor nodded. "Well, then, we'll have to work with what we've got, won't we?"

He nodded. "Right."

"We knew you could help us, Doctor," said Rachel earnestly, grabbing his hands. The look she gave him was unnerving. He couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him with such unwavering trust, needing his help and believing he would give it. He was reminded very suddenly of Rose.

He took a couple of steps back and glanced over Rachel's head at the Doctor, whose expression remained impassive. He had no idea how the Doctor's reputation preceded him.

Suddenly, the door banged open and a young boy tore in.

"Jimmy!" cried Rachel, scandalized. "What have I told you about coming in the basement when we're down here?"

Jimmy was in tears. "They're gonna kill him! Dad, they're gonna kill him!"

"What?" cried Rachel in shock. There was an uproar among the assembled members of the opposition.

"They said they had a prisoner escape this morning; they said he must have been one of ours. He wasn't using his real name and they have no record of the man who came claiming to transfer him. Sis, they know about the shipment! They think the man who escaped was guarding it."

_Oh God_. He felt his stomach drop. This was his fault. It was him. The man who'd escaped, the man they'd thought was guarding the opposition's shipment, whatever that was. His mind whirled and he felt bile rise in his throat. He would be responsible for the death of yet another person.

"When?" the Doctor asked insistently. "Did they say when?"

"Tomorrow," said Jimmy shakily. His sister dropped to her knees and pulled him close. "They're going to do it tomorrow at noon because that man escaped."

It was all his fault. He felt his knees buckle and he sat down hard in a nearby chair.

"Doctor?" said someone. "Are you all right?"

He pressed his face into his hands.

"He's fine," he heard the Doctor's voice say. There was a rush of air beside him as the Doctor sat on the arm of the chair. "He's very easily affected by other peoples' pain."

"But, Mr. Harkness..."

"Give us a minute," said the Doctor, herding everyone to the stairs. "And that's _Captain_."

He listened as everyone else left and then he felt the Doctor kneel on the floor in front of him. "Are you all right?"

He looked up. The Doctor looked concerned.

"I'm fine," he murmured, his mouth dry.

"It'll be all right," the Doctor said softly. "They're counting on you."

"I can't figure how."

"Because they think you're me."

"Then they'll be disappointed," he spat.

"Oh, I don't know about that," said the Doctor. "I've failed." He swallowed hard. "Just as much as you have. I've lost people, like you have. What's the difference between us, hm?"

He didn't know how to respond to this. He looked down at his hands which were fisting his trousers.

The Doctor didn't wait for him to say anything. "There's not much, is there? They believed you were me and I was you." He laughed. "I don't know if I should be offended."

He didn't say anything. The Doctor stood and turned. "Oh, Jack, where's the fight in you gone?"

He bristled. "_Don't_ call me that."

"_That's_ your name," cried the Doctor, matching his tone.

He looked up. He'd never seen that expression on the Doctor's face before. At least not in that body.

"It's _not_ my name," he said tersely.

"And the Doctor's not mine. It doesn't matter what you're called; call yourself Mary Sue for all I care–you're still the same man." He looked at him critically. "Or are you?"

"That man died."

"You're immortal, Jack. You didn't die. Something in you did and someone close to you did but Captain Jack Harkness is still alive."

He wiped his eyes. He couldn't believe there were still any tears. "The only worthy part of me died."

"What would Ianto say?" asked the Doctor plainly. "To see you acting like such an idiot?"

"Shut up," he said harshly. The Doctor's expression remained frustratingly unchanged.

"He wouldn't even recognize you," said the Doctor darkly.

"I don't want forget him," he murmured. "I'm so afraid I'm going to forget him."

The Doctor blinked. "How could you possibly forget him?"

He opened his mouth to say something and realized he didn't know what.

"The only way not to," said the Doctor simply, "is to be the man Ianto Jones would be proud of. Be Captain Jack Harkness."

There were a few moments of silence. "I can't," he finally said.

"Suit yourself," said the Doctor. "I've been Captain Jack Harkness for forty-two minutes and I love it."

He got to his feet and turned, coat snapping. "What do you suggest we do?"

The Doctor tugged on his ear. "We should probably go save that man. I imagine you don't need another death on your conscience." He opened the door and trotted up the stairs out of the basement.

**

They said little to each other as they walked back to the TARDIS, the Doctor having informed the crowd that they would be back in the morning, ready to go rescue Rachel's father.

He resented that the Doctor would likely expect _him_ to come up with a plan and that it would likely fail. Another death on his conscience, that's what he'd said. If Rachel's father died, it would be all his fault.

"Can you tell me a bit about your plan, Doctor?" asked Rachel nervously, as she walked beside him. For a moment, he waited for the Doctor to respond before he remembered that she must mean him.

"Yeah," he said absently.

"What is it?"

He blinked. He looked over at the Doctor who was walking briskly on his other side. The Time Lord did not meet his eyes.

"I'll give myself up in his place."

"What?" exclaimed Rachel. "But you can't!"

"No," he said determinedly. "I can and I will."

If the Doctor heard him, he gave no sign of reaction.

He kept talking, making up the plan as he went along. "In the morning, I'll go to the prison. I'll tell them I was the man who escaped today and I'll convince them to take me instead."

"They'll never do that," said Rachel. "They'd kill both of you."

"What about that shipment?" asked the Doctor suddenly. "Where is it now?"

"I don't know," said Rachel. "I assume they've taken it."

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't know what kind of weapons they were. Maybe he could teleport into where it was being held...

"Weapons?" asked Rachel in confusion when he asked her. "It's not weapons. We're a non-violent movement; it wouldn't be weapons."

"Great," he muttered under his breath. "No weapons, either."

"The Doctor will think of something," said the Doctor reassuringly. "Call it a hunch."

**

"There's something we should be doing now, I imagine," said the Doctor. "I'm just not sure of what." He was leaning on the console, his head down in concentration.

He grunted. He was sitting on the floor by the door, looking at Ianto's picture again. Was the Doctor right that he could be a man Ianto would be proud of? He didn't think he'd ever deserved anyone's pride.

"Jack?"

He ignored this. When would the Doctor learn that wasn't his name?

The Doctor heaved a sigh. "I can't believe you're technically older than me; you're acting like a toddler." He paused. "Elmo. I've decided. Your new name is Elmo."

He grunted again.

The Doctor sighed. "You were supposed to object to Elmo. A sane person would object to Elmo."

"Plan," he said abruptly after a moment, stowing Ianto once more in his wallet.

"Yes, Elmo, we need a plan."

"We need to find out what was in that shipment." It was easier this way, to just let the adrenaline take over and ignore the Doctor. "Maybe it _is_ weapons after all."

"All right," said the Doctor. "Let's see if I can move the TARDIS any closer." He sprang around the console, hitting buttons and flipping switches.

He realized he'd never really studied the way this version of the Doctor piloted the TARDIS. It was very different to his first Doctor's style, though not altogether unpleasant to watch.

The Doctor rematerialized the TARDIS in an evidence room in the basement of the prison. They crept out cautiously, unsure of what might be on the other side of the doors.

"I was down here earlier," said the Doctor, recognition dawning on him. "They brought me down here to give me back your things."

"Did you go all the way back there?" He pointed past the guard's desk, deserted for the night to the rows and rows of shelves full of evidence on the other side.

"No," said the Doctor. "They gave me your name and number upstairs."

He blinked. "If they think that was my stuff, wouldn't they have entered it into evidence under my number?"

"Quite possibly," the Doctor allowed. "Come on." He pulled out his sonic screwdriver and unlocked the gate.

It swung shut ominously behind them, reminding him unsettlingly of being back in the cell. Suddenly, he felt the Doctor's hand on his shoulder.

"It would be in big crates, wouldn't it? Did you notice anything in the cargo hold of that ship?"

He shook his head. "I didn't pay attention the other boxes. I thought they were all mining equipment..." He turned slowly. "Of course! It _would_ be disguised as mining equipment. Come on." Without thinking about it, he grabbed the Doctor's wrist and dragged him down the rows, counting off numerically as he tried to remember the number from the front of his uniform. "There," he said finally. "This has to be it."

The Doctor took in the two large crates before them. Indeed, the large sheets of paper tacked to the front of them read _68197/Smith_.

The Doctor ran the sonic screwdriver along the seam of the first crate.

He ran in to catch the front when it fell forward. "It's recording equipment," he said in surprise.

The Doctor peered over his shoulder. "What would the opposition want with recording equipment?"

He felt his mouth go dry. "I think I know," he said in a hollow voice. He took several steps back and the front of the crate fell to the floor with a thunk.

"Jack?" He heard the Doctor's voice, but it was very far away. "Are you all right?"

He realized his breath was coming in shallow spurts. "It's just like last time," he whispered.

"What is?" The Doctor's expression was genuinely concerned. "Jack?"

He didn't even twitch at the name.

"Jack, come on, look at me."

"They'll kill them anyway," he whispered. "They won't care that they recorded it all."

"Oh, Jack." The Doctor placed both his hands squarely on his shoulders. "Come on. Snap out of it."

His breath hitched. "I don't want to be responsible for another death."

"Then don't be. Come on." The Doctor patted Jack's cheek. "Let's go."

The gesture was jarring and he blinked. "Yeah," he said. "Let's go."


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel's father was named Vincent Easley, and they found him in a fourth-floor cell, identical to the one they'd left earlier. The Doctor unlocked the door easily and disabled the security camera with his sonic screwdriver.

"Why didn't you just unlock _my_ door and free me?" he asked, scowling at the Doctor. "Why did you break out the handcuffs?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I wanted it to look authentic. Of course... that backfired." He looked at Vincent Easley, who was sitting on his bunk, staring at them. "Hello, I'm Captain Jack Harkness and this is the Doctor. We're with the opposition. Rachel sent us."

"Rachel." Easley shook his head. "Don't tell me she's getting involved in this mess."

"She's the reason we're here," said the Doctor. "We're going to set you free."

Easley shook his head. His eyes were hollow and his face was obscured by scrubby whiskers. Jack was reminded unsettlingly of the reflection he'd seen in the mirror back on the TARDIS. It had been that of a stranger.

"And what would be the point of that, young man." Easley's voice was so quiet he could barely make it out. "You're not ordinary Draxans, I can tell that." His eyes lingered on the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. "Idealists, just like the rest."

"Rachel says you're an idealist," said the Doctor.

"I was," said Easley. "Until I saw the kinds of forces we're up against."

The Doctor sucked air in between his teeth. "Nothing sadder than a dead idealist, hm, Doctor?"

He ignored him. "I'll go in your place," he said simply. "It's the least I can do." _Anything not to have another death on my conscience. Anything._

Easley glanced up at him. "Now just a second, young man. The _least_ you can do?"

The Doctor smirked. "You don't know the Doctor."

It continued to be odd to hear what amounted to the Doctor talking about himself in the third person. It gave him a headache, but lots of things having to do with the Doctor did.

"Let's just say it's not that easy to execute me."

Easley looked skeptical.

"Trust me." He grinned.

Easley's expression softened. "What about me?"

"We're going to break you out and take you home." The Doctor stuck his head out of the cell, glancing back and forth. "In the morning when they come by and see Ja–the Doctor and me here, well... we have a plan."

Easley frowned, but he stood up. "Why should I trust you, Captain Harkness?"

The Doctor smiled. "Because I'm so charismatic?"

**

They dropped all three Easleys off in the woods. Vincent explained that he'd been keeping this cabin in case they ever needed to hide.

He knew he would be unable to watch the tearful family reunion, but he was surprised to see that the Doctor's cheerful expression also faded as soon as he stepped back onto the TARDIS.

"Guess we'll skip to tomorrow morning," the Doctor said, drumming his fingers absently on the console. "Unless you need a rest?"

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and thought about it. "I guess I could use some sleep. It's been a while."

"All right," said the Doctor cheerfully. "Let me know if you need anything."

Once back in the bedroom–his bedroom–he shucked off his clothes and crawled under the covers. He'd been so tired in the console room but he found that once he was lying here in the darkened room, he wasn't sleepy. He rolled onto his back, his side, without his pillow, even with his head pointed at the foot of the bed. Nothing worked. Every time, he dropped off to sleep, he was back in the field with Ianto and he couldn't remember his own name.

After a couple hours of that, he sighed and stood up. Maybe a warm shower would relax him.

It didn't help much, but it was good to feel that he was cleaning himself, washing off the grime of all the things that he'd done. Was it possible for him to ever feel like himself again? Who was himself, anyway? He rubbed his face and suddenly realized he hated the feeling of the growth of beard there.

As soon as he stepped out of the shower, he noticed there was a razor and shaving cream sitting on the counter. "I love you," he murmured under his breath.

If he could understand TARDIS, he might have thought she hummed back _I love you, too_.

**

He tried to cut his hair, too, but after a few minutes that resulted in hopelessly jagged edges, he was forced to ask for the Doctor's help. For his part, the Time Lord seemed pleased to offer his services.

"I'll have you looking like yourself in a jiffy," he declared, examining his head critically. "I've never understood the human fascination with changing one's appearance." He snicked the scissors with a zeal that was almost menacing. Jack shut his eyes.

He got the courage to open them again as the Doctor seized a lock of hair above his ear and lopped it off. "Look who's talking."

"Well..." The Doctor made a few rather haphazard snips and frowned, then started in again at a more confidant pace. "You know what I mean. After all, look at you! You're always wearing the same clothes."

He glanced down at himself but the Doctor placed a hand on top of his head, jerking him upright again.

"Like a Time Lord, you are," he added, moving around to start on the back. "Oh, there's that gray hair you're always complaining about, see?" _Snip_. "Gone now!"

"You think?"

"Oh, yeah! I just cut it off! You know, you ought to borrow my conditioner–it'll make your hair softer and stave off the gray."

"No, I mean about..."

"Oh, yes! I mean, think about it." The Doctor crouched down in front of him and frowned at his fringe. "There's the living-forever thing, the same-clothes-and-hair thing, the being-able-to-run-in-a-long-coat thing." He stuck his tongue out in concentration and cut straight across. "Also, you brood beautifully."

He laughed. "Those the essentials, huh?"

"Definitely," said the Doctor, walking in a slow circle around him. He made one more decisive cut in the back and then exclaimed, "Right then! I think you're done."

Jack looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

"What do you think?" The Doctor dropped down in front of him and brushed the cut hair off his shoulders. "Looks like before, doesn't it? Looks like Jack?"

He felt his lips twitch into a smile. He did look like Jack.

"Didn't think I'd be that good, did you?" said the Doctor grinning. He ran a hand through his own hair. "Pair of gorgeous, well-groomed time-travelers, we are. Well, I'm gorgeous. You're just... well-groomed." There was a pause.

Jack did not mean to meet the Doctor's eyes but he did.

"Actually," the Doctor said quietly, but then he stopped. Jack felt his pulse quicken. Self-consciously, he moistened his lips.

The Doctor brushed his thumb across Jack's cheek and rested it at the corner of his mouth. "You've got a bit of hair," he said faintly, but he made no move to brush to away. He swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing.

Then, he kissed him.

Jack wasn't sure it was happening at first–suddenly, the Doctor was inches away and just as suddenly, his lips were on Jack's. The Doctor's eyes were closed and he was pressing softly, his fingers resting gently against Jack's cheek. Then, just as suddenly as he'd kissed him, the Doctor pulled away and brushed his thumb across Jack's mouth.

"There it goes," he said quietly. "Got it." If he didn't know better, he'd swear the Doctor was blushing. There were another few seconds when neither of them said anything, and then the Doctor stood and clapped his hands.

"We do have a plan, right?"

"Nope," said Jack, fighting to keep his breathing even.

The Doctor's face split into the grin that had always made Jack's stomach flip-flop, even if he didn't want it to. "Perfect."

**

Jack caught the warden as he was coming out of his office the following morning.

"Hi," he said, flipping open the psychic paper the Doctor had given him. "Got a minute? I'm with the Draxan Authority Board. I'm writing a report on... efficiency." _Idiot_, he thought.

The warden stared at him. "Sorry?"

"I'm from Kuuo City. You're Mr. Phillips, right?" He handed over the psychic paper. "I'm an efficiency expert. The Council sent me." He tried to talk like the Doctor did, adopting a bit of a different tone to sound like the person he was pretending to be–James Harper, efficiency expert.

"Oh, yes." The warden handed him back the psychic paper. "Wasn't expecting you. Come on. I'm sorry, we're about to have an execution..."

"Oh, that's fine," said Jack breezily. "I'll watch."

The warden looked skeptical but Jack just smiled convincingly.

Somewhere, a bell tolled the hour. Eleven in the morning.

"Right then, young man," said Phillips. "Come along."

Jack tucked his clipboard under his arm and followed the warden, silently thanking the Doctor for giving him such a professional-looking haircut. Combed just right, and paired with the three-piece suit he'd found in the wardrobe, it certainly made him feel the part.

Phillips led Jack to his private box above the execution grounds. Jack felt his stomach drop. Was this where...? It was brutal, like something out of Ancient Rome. He swallowed hard. He had to keep his composure.

"Who are all these people?" he asked conversationally, nodding the spectators in the rows behind them.

The warden suddenly looked as though he realized Jack was someone he might like to impress. "Oh, various dignitaries. I believe the governor is here... his wife... the mayor of Kuuo City, in fact and the owner of the mining company!"

Jack nodded wordlessly. "What was the man's crime?"

The warden blinked. "Crime? Oh, yes! Sedition. And importation of weapons–to be used against the colony."

Jack took this in passively, but did adjust his tie. It was uncomfortable, but he had to wear it. The tie was the most essential part of his outfit.

He was relieved from having to say anything more by a prison guard who tapped the warden on the shoulder. He eyed Jack for a second and he felt his blood freeze, but the man passed him over a second later and Jack realized that he probably didn't recognize him all cleaned up.

"Something the matter?" Jack asked the warden calmly when the guard had hurried away.

"Oh, nothing." Phillips looked flustered and kept patting his comb-over. "Everything's fine."

Jack lifted his clipboard. "I'm glad to hear that. While we're waiting, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The warden blinked. "Oh, of course, young man."

Jack raised his pen above his clipboard. "I just need some data. How many prisoners would you say you execute a year?"

Phillips looked flustered. "You say you're from...?"

"The Kuuo City Council sent me." Jack beamed. "They want me to make sure our citizens' tax dollars are used most efficiently."

Phillips nodded. "Right, then. So, what did you want to know?"

"How old is this facility?"

"About thirty years."

Jack scribbled something on his clipboard. "And how many prisoners at present time?"

"Over a thousand." Phillips seemed very proud of himself.

"Executions per annum?"

Phillips scratched his chin. "Oh, roughly... three hundred? Give or take. You see, some years, the opposition is incredibly persistent, you see..."

"Method of execution?"

"You say this information..."

"Won't leave the planet, sir." Jack gave him his most winning smile.

"It varies," Phillips explained. "Some crimes warrant death by firing squad–" Jack swallowed hard. That would have been him. "–but today, the penalty is hanging. Sedition is punishable by hanging. That's the law."

Jack tapped his tie. "You getting all this, Doctor?"

The Doctor's voice was crackled but audible. "Loud and clear, Captain. Want me to patch the council through?"

"Sure do!"

Jack looked up at Phillips and smiled. "Like my tie?" He watched out of the corners of his eyes as the guards sympathetic to the resistance stepped from their posts and advanced on various colonial officials in the warden's box.

The warden's face was contorted with rage. "You're with them. You're with the opposition."

Jack beamed. "They're hearing you back on Draxa Prime. Everything we say is being broadcast live over the stadium loudspeakers, too. I think the prison population's going to increase somewhat by tonight. Oh, and, governor?" Jack turned to the man being led away in handcuffs. "You can try to run for reelection, if you want. But I wouldn't get my hopes up."

Jack felt the gun against his back before he saw the man who held it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Phillips," he said softly. "You can do it if it would make you feel better to go to prison for murder, too. Doesn't matter to me."

Phillips's hand shook as he held the gun. "Wh-who are you?"

Jack smirked. "I'm Captain Jack Harkness."

The gun went off and Jack dropped.


	6. Chapter 6

When he came to, the room was filled with colonial officials. The Doctor was kneeling at his side.

"Took your sweet time," he observed.

Jack sat up woozily, rubbing his back. "Wounds to the back take a lot more time generally," he explained. "Head wounds are easier for some reason."

The Doctor helped him up. "You did well." He patted him roughly on the shoulder. "Let's go home."

Jack noticed that the Doctor didn't let go of his arm as he led him through the clamoring crowd. "Where are Rachel and her family?"

"Still in hiding," said the Doctor. "They'll come out soon. Old Mr. Easley's got a planet to rebuild. You know, I think he might just win the election. I knew his name sounded familiar."

Jack didn't reply. His heart was still pounding with adrenaline from earlier. Dying suddenly tended to do that–his systems were working overtime.

"You need rest," the Doctor was saying. "You didn't get any sleep last night."

"I'm fine," said Jack. He waited as the Doctor unlocked the TARDIS and held the door open for him. He laid his hands on his coat, which he'd slung over the support by the door, where the Doctor usually hung his own. "What did Gwen say?"

"Hm?" The Doctor was by the controls, turning knobs and pulling levers. "She asked me to keep an eye out for you, do you mean that?"

"Was she... upset?"

The Doctor glanced up at him. "She misses you, Jack. You're her friend."

Jack sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't..."

The Doctor came up beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You _do_. You do deserve it, Jack. You proved that today, even though I knew it all along. Trust me, Jack. He would be proud of you."

Jack sat down at the base of the console. "You don't know that," he said darkly.

"I think I do," said the Doctor softly. "Because he cared about you, and I care about you. And Jack, _I'm_ proud of you."

Jack closed his eyes to stave off the tears. "I didn't deserve him."

The Doctor sat down beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "You did," he murmured. "You did."

**

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. He and the Doctor were walking down the quiet, tree-lined street Gwen now lived on. Jack had never seen their new house (though he supposed it could no longer be considered "new") but he realized it was the kind of place he'd imagined them living.

"Positive," said the Doctor firmly. "She's worried sick about you."

Jack frowned.

"I'm here," the Doctor added. "And, remember, she can't kill you."

The Doctor led the way up the path to the house. They had nearly reached the front door when it swung open and Rhys ran out carrying a small suitcase. He stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the Doctor and Jack.

"Rhys?" Gwen's voice came from inside the house. "Don't just stand there. We've got to go. I mean, this is what you get for making me wait till the last minute."

She came up beside her husband and froze too. "Oh my God," she breathed.

"Did we come at a bad time?" asked the Doctor.

Gwen rushed forward and threw her arms around Jack. "Oh, you idiot," she murmured. "Where have you _been_?"

He hugged her back tightly. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I was so worried," she sobbed. "I didn't know where you were, what had happened to you. You left me, Jack!"

"I'm sorry," he said again.

She pulled back and glared at him, though her eyes held no anger. "You're lucky I'm in the state I'm in. We were just on our way to the hospital."

The Doctor and Jack exchanged glances. Jack shook his head no. The Doctor nodded his head yes.

**

The four of them were a tight fit in Rhys's car.

"Are you sure we had to bring them, then?" he asked, glancing at the Doctor and Jack in the backseat.

"I'm not letting him out of my sight," Gwen muttered.

"I took the liberty of taking his vortex manipulator," the Doctor explained, though she showed no sign of listening to him as another contraction hit her. "He's not going anywhere–he doesn't even have a bus pass."

"So he could have stayed at home," Rhys concluded. "Or gone somewhere else."

"What, and miss the miracle of childbirth?" said the Doctor. "I can't wait. Have you picked a name yet? I've always been partial to Melvin. Melvin Williams. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

Rhys sighed.

Jack watched the traffic fly by without comment. He had certainly missed Gwen, but he wasn't sure he really wanted to return to Cardiff. Everything reminded him of Ianto, he realized with a pang as Rhys pulled into the car park of the hospital. There was a restaurant across the street they'd had dinner at several times. The Doctor reached out and patted him on the shoulder.

The Doctor left them in the lobby, muttering something about a little shop. Jack squeezed onto the lift with Gwen and Rhys when the nurse wasn't looking.

"What do you think you're doing?" asked Rhys.

"Coming with you," said Jack. "I want to see the baby."

"No, I'm not having you here. You crashed the wedding, you found out she was pregnant before I did, you–"

"Rhys, stop it," said Gwen harshly from her wheelchair. "I want him here."

Jack gave Rhys a triumphant grin.

It was actually pretty boring sitting around watching Gwen lie there, groaning occasionally. She didn't seem interested in conversation and the couple of times she grabbed his hand, he thought he might not get it back.

Jack was watching Rhys flip through the channels on the TV, looking for something interesting on at one in the morning when Gwen said, "I think it's time."

Jack and Rhys exchanged glances. "I'll get the doctor," they both chorused.

"You get _your_ Doctor," said Rhys. "I want to see my baby being born."

Jack hesitated for a moment, but then Gwen said, "Go get him, Jack. Lord knows where he is."

Jack met the Doctor coming off the lift, gripping a bunch of balloons.

"Look what I found in the little shop!" he declared, thrusting the balloons at Jack. "They even wrote up a little card, look." He handed it to Jack who took it and unfolded it.

_Happy Birthday. Love, the Doctor and Uncle Jack_.

"Uncle Jack?" asked Jack incredulously. His stomach was doing that flip-flop thing again, much to his consternation.

"Sure!" said the Doctor, seemingly oblivious. "I mean, I thought about Uncle Doctor but that's rubbish. You're Uncle Jack, though."

"But... I'm not its uncle."

"Sure you are!" The Doctor smiled and led the way out of the shop. "Humans do that all the time."

"I know," said Jack quietly.

"Come on, then!" The Doctor grabbed his arm, dragging him toward the lift. "Let's see if our nephew's been born yet."

"I thought they didn't know the sex," said Jack.

"Oh, right." The Doctor paused. "Oops." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry for the spoiler."

The Doctor did a terrible job of feigning surprise when Rhys ran up to them in the corridor, exclaiming that it was a boy.

Jack grinned. "So, did you name him after me?"

Rhys took a deep breath. "I think Gwen would like to tell you the name."

Jack had to admit Gwen looked lovely. He hadn't seen much of her pregnant, but sitting there, holding her baby, she was absolutely glowing and he told her so.

"Oh, shut up, I look a mess," she said, smiling. "Would you like to hold him?"

"Oh, no, I don't think..." Jack looked down at the squirming baby Gwen held out to him. He looked... like a baby. He reminded Jack of Grey, of Alice, of Steven. Carefully, Jack held out his arms and picked him up.

"Eddie," said Gwen. She took a deep breath. "Edward Ianto Williams."

"He's beautiful," Jack murmured. Eddie turned his head and looked at him. He was surprisingly focused, despite the drool.

"Looks just like me," Rhys declared, from over Jack's shoulder. "He's got the Williams nose."

"All human babies look the same," the Doctor drawled, ignoring the glare he received from Rhys. He leaned in, examining Eddie closely and wiggled his fingers. "Look what I've got for you. Went back to the TARDIS to get it. It was mine when I was a tyke." He pulled a banana-shaped rattle out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket and shook it. Eddie stared, mesmerized.

Jack watched the Doctor. It had never occurred to him that the Doctor would be good with kids, but it was oddly calming watching him interact with the baby.

"So, what will you do?" Gwen asked, taking Eddie back after a few moments.

Jack paused. He turned to look at the Doctor.

"You're welcome to come with me," he said simply.

Jack looked back at Gwen, who was settling Eddie against her chest. "You'll visit, won't you?" she asked. "I'm not losing you again. You'll be around to see Eddie grow up."

Jack smiled. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."


	7. Epilogue

**Six Months Later (Relative Dimensionally Speaking)**

"Pull it down, nice and smooth… smoother… smoother… Jack, on what planet is that _smooth_?"

Jack jerked the lever back up and the TARDIS lurched. "Sorry," he muttered as the Doctor stumbled into him.

"You did that on purpose," said the Doctor. His tone was harsh, but his features showed no anger. Also, he made no move to right himself.

Jack managed a nervous smile. "Am I really that predictable?"

The Doctor smiled. "Stunningly." There was a brief moment, where neither of them said anything, reminding Jack of another awkward moment from six months earlier.

Suddenly, the Doctor pulled back. "No! No! No!" Jack had let go of the lever. The Doctor grabbed it and the TARDIS jolted again, throwing them both to the floor.

"Well now we're buggered," said the Doctor, leaping to his feet and checking the console readout. "We've probably missed Christmas." He drummed his fingers on the monitor. "Well, what do you know! Christmas Eve, 2010. That's the right one, if I recall correctly."

"Yup," said Jack. The six months he'd spent traveling with the Doctor had given him time to think. He knew he would never forget Ianto, and he had the photograph in the top drawer of his nightstand to prove it. He may have lost everything else he owned when the Hub blew, but he could start another collection of memories right there.

He glanced over at the Doctor, who was on his hands and knees, pulling up a panel of grating beneath which he'd stashed the sack of presents they planned to give out. He'd found himself thinking about that day the Doctor had kissed him increasingly more frequently. Not that that meant he wanted the Doctor to kiss him again. Did it?

"Jack, can you help me carry this?" The Doctor's voice shook him from his reverie.

"Sure." He shrugged on his coat and reached out for the other corner of the sack.

"We're just like Father Christmas, aren't we?" said the Doctor, grabbing his own coat, and pulling open the door. "That is, if Father Christmas had a companion."

Jack shrugged. "How do you think he gets to every kid in the world in one night?"

The Doctor considered this as they stepped out into the early evening. "Could be... oh, it's snowing! For real this time, oh, that is just brilliant, that is." The Doctor beamed, glancing up and down Gwen's street. There were few cars and the snow lay unmarred in the road, powdery and pristine. The Doctor stuck out his tongue, catching a few snowflakes. Jack grabbed the sack and slung it over one shoulder.

"Oh, there you go!" said the Doctor happily. "Exactly like Father Christmas. Come on." He led the way up the walk, his coat billowing behind him. Jack took a moment to admire the way the snow clung to his hair, weighing it down, and then shook his head and followed at a more sedate pace. The Doctor leaned on the doorbell and knocked briskly.

"Hello!" he exclaimed when Gwen opened the door. "Hope we're not too late."

Gwen smiled. "Oh, it's so good to see you two. Come on in." She hugged them both, Jack somewhat awkwardly, considering the bag on his back. "What's all this then?"

"We couldn't travel through time and space without bringing back a few souvenirs." Jack kissed her on the cheek. "Where's Eddie?"

"Oh, he's been a terror," said Gwen, leading the way into the sitting room. "He's teething and he won't sleep."

"We've got something for that." The Doctor relieved Jack of his burden and dug around inside it. "Teething ring! From the plan Eroton. And, let's see..." He set the sack on the floor and began pulling out wrapped parcels. "These are for you and Rhys... and Eddie, of course."

Gwen sat down in the chair nearest the Christmas tree. "You didn't have to do that!"

"Sure we did." Jack sat on the couch opposite her and took her proffered glass of eggnog.

"Spoiling Eddie's our job," said the Doctor, plopping onto the couch next to Jack. He pulled his glasses out of his suit pocket and slipped them on so he could read the tags as he set to sorting packages. "Ah, this is for you, Jack! From me." He gave him a jaunty wink, as he handed him the slightly heavy box. "Open it later."

Gwen smiled fondly at them. "It's really good to see you, Jack. I'm glad you're doing well."

Jack laughed. He hadn't been too sure he was doing well, but at least he looked it. He took a sip of his eggnog. "Good to see you, too."

"And look who's here!" exclaimed the Doctor. Rhys had come downstairs and entered the room, Eddie in his arms. Immediately, the baby began squirming, reaching out for the Doctor and Jack.

"If you insist," said Rhys, handing Eddie off to the Doctor.

"Oh, he does remember me," said the Doctor, touched, as Eddie waved his arms at him. His chubby little hands latched onto the Doctor's glasses and tugged. "Oh... oh... Uncle Doctor needs those to see. Let's see what else we've got." The Doctor held his glasses on the bridge of his nose with one hand while reaching for a package with the other.

Eddie grinned.

"He's getting big," Jack observed. Eddie craned his neck and regarded him curiously.

"Here we go," said the Doctor, having gotten the paper off the parcel one-handed. It was a set of stuffed animals they'd got on Falroschia. "Look, Eddie. There's a grokk and a rylp and a Werealian Nerazmataz. And a cow! What does the grokk say, Eddie? Floo! Floo!"

Eddie laughed. "Foo! Foo!"

"Clever kid," said Jack.

"Just like his dad," said Rhys.

"Oh, you know what a grokk says?"

Rhys pointed at the toy bird his son was now gnawing on. "Floo, floo."

It was nice, Jack thought, sitting by the fire with the people he cared about. Eddie soon dropped off to sleep in his lap, still clutching the stuffed grokk.

"Don't know what my mum will think of this when she sees it," said Gwen, taking Eddie from Jack to put him to bed.

"Tell her it's a parrot," said Jack easily, following her upstairs. The Doctor had gone out with Rhys to turn off the incredibly intricate light display. The Doctor was absolutely fascinated by it.

"I suppose that would work," she said, giving her son a kiss and laying him in his crib. "Now, you two are just in here. This is our guest room." She beamed. "First guests we've had in the guest room!"

Jack opened his mouth. "We... what? I was going to go back to the TARDIS."

"Oh, come on." Gwen waved her hand dismissively. "It's much cozier in here. Besides, that thing hasn't got a chimney. How's Father Christmas going to get to your stockings?"

Jack considered pointing out to her that Father Christmas didn't actually exist when he noticed there was only one bed.

"The Doctor doesn't really sleep," he informed her.

She blinked. "What? What does he do, then, putter around at night like a cat?"

Jack considered this. "Yeah, I guess so."

She shook her head and smoothed the duvet. "I don't know how you put up with it. It'd freak me out to have him wandering at night!"

It suddenly occurred to Jack that Gwen seemed to have the wrong idea about the implications the Doctor's nighttime activities had for Jack.

"I don't wander," said the Doctor from the doorway. "Generally, I just tinker."

Gwen smiled and headed for the door. "That's almost as bad. Good night."

"Good night," said the Doctor, smiling. She shut the door.

"So," said the Doctor, looking at Jack.

Jack sat on the edge of the bed. "Gwen thinks..."

"I know what Gwen thinks."

Jack glanced up at him. "Then why didn't you tell her the truth?"

The Doctor rocked back on his heels, his hands in his trouser pockets. "I suppose I thought it was fun."

Jack quirked an eyebrow. "Fun like kissing me?"

The Doctor's face fell. "I'd forgotten about that. Nearly."

Jack snorted. "I hadn't."

The Doctor sighed. "I'm sorry. I'll... I'll just go back to the TARDIS. And... tinker." He turned, placed his hand on the knob.

"No," said Jack softly.

The Doctor hesitated.

"I didn't mind," said Jack finally.

The Doctor looked surprised, but he did not fully turn around. "Are you sure?"

"Doctor, it's been two years for me. If it never goes away..."

The Doctor turned. "It never goes away," he said hollowly. "If it went away, you wouldn't be human. Or Time Lord. But it's not supposed to go away."

Jack sighed and sat down on the bed.

They sat in silence for several long minutes. "It's Christmas now," said the Doctor. "I suppose you can open your present."

Jack had almost forgotten about it. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled it out. Carefully, he unwrapped it. It was a... "What is it?" asked Jack cautiously, turning it over in his hands.

"It's a timey-wimey detector!" cried the Doctor indignantly. "It's just like mine, only pocket-sized. Sized to your pockets, that is. It'll be very handy if we ever get separated. Then you can detect me, because I'm very time-wimey."

"What about me?" asked Jack, turning the device over again.

"Oh, you're practically the king of timey-wimey!" The Doctor reached over and laid his hands over Jack's, showing him how to work the detector. It started to beep and a wheel at the top began to turn. "I hope Gwen and Rhys don't have any spare hens lying about."

Jack decided it was safer just not to ask.

"I mean, that's the thing," the Doctor continued. "We're sort of better off with each other, I imagine." He suddenly yawned hugely. "Oh dear. That would be the... eggnog."

"What do you mean?" asked Jack.

"It's my binary vascular system. Add egg to nog and..." He yawned again. "I'm out like a light."

"No, I meant–"

"Oh," said the Doctor sleepily. "I just meant we're unusually timey-wimey, you and me, so it sort of makes sense. Running around, saving the universe. You won't die and I'll just regenerate. One-of-a-kind things, we both are." His eyes fluttered. "At least let me have a bit of the bed."

Jack set his timey-wimey detector on the nightstand. "Sure," he said, kicking his boots off and sliding over under the covers, rolling over to face the window. He heard two thunks as the Doctor's trainers hit the floor and then the Doctor's feet slid down next to his.

"G'night, Jack," said the Doctor.

Jack turned. "Good night."

"You could kiss me," said the Doctor, as Jack reached to turn out the light. "I'd actually like that and trust me, that's not the nog talking."

Jack hesitated.

"You said you didn't mind before."

Jack bit his lip.

"Or if you don't want to, you don't have to. I just thought maybe. I mean... we've both lost people, Jack. We're both going to lose people. It's a fact, it's in our natures. But maybe... if we had each other."

He was looking seriously at Jack, more seriously than he'd ever looked at him before.

Jack couldn't tell who made the first move. Maybe it was both of them.

The Doctor's kiss was tender and hesitant, as though he expected Jack to pull away at any second. Jack slid closer, reaching around to grasp the back of the Doctor's neck and deepened the kiss, to show he was truly serious. When they broke apart, Jack realized he was smiling.

"All right?" the Doctor asked.

"Yeah," said Jack.

The Doctor returned his smile and reached out to brush a lock of hair from his forehead. Then, suddenly, he yawned again.

"Sorry," he said rubbing his eyes. "There's the nog. Remind me not to do that again next Christmas."

Jack grinned. "I won't."

The Doctor smiled sleepily and lay down, pulling up the covers. "Good night, Jack."

Jack leaned in and kissed him on the forehead before lying down himself. "Good night, Doctor," he said, as he felt a cool arm slide around his waist.

For the first time in two years, Captain Jack Harkness slept and did not dream.


End file.
